


Sunward I've Climbed

by Sid



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sid/pseuds/Sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron is mourning the death of his friend.  This is a 3,000 word tag to the Season Nine episode <em>Stronghold</em>.  December 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunward I've Climbed

# Sunward I've Climbed

  


What had her name been, anyway? The cute little redhead. Cam couldn't remember and it didn't matter, so call her Lulu Belle. Five foot nothing, plump, pretty hair and eyes. The sweetest sweet thing.  


But something about Lulu Belle shook Bryce Ferguson up so bad that he couldn't tie his own tie before their dinner date and Cam had to take over for him. He'd stood there in back of Ferguson because he didn't know how to tie a tie from the front, and reached over his shoulders and watched in the mirror as Fergy rattled on and on about the fancy restaurant he was taking Lulu Belle to and what he was planning to order that wouldn't cost an arm and a leg so that it wouldn't matter if she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and he didn't care if she did because she was worth every dime.  


Cam had walked around in front of him and given his tie a final tweak to straighten it and slapped him on the shoulder and said something encouraging, and Ferguson had gone off with a more confident grin on his face.  


They'd dated for quite a spell, those two, but nothing ever really came of it, which was a shame....  


Cam set his glass of whiskey down hard on the coffee table and clutched at his head with both hands. No, it wasn't a shame, because she'd be a widow now and that didn't bear thinking about.  


None of it much bore thinking about and he wished he could stop, but that was a wish that wasn't about to come true. Not while he was still struggling to come to grips with the survivor's guilt Fergy's pamphlet talked about. He thought he was doing pretty good. Good as he could under the circumstances. Ferguson had been doing his job and Cam had been doing his. There was no blame or responsibility on Cam's shoulders.  


No, Ferguson had done his best to take all that away and Cam was working on acceptance, and he was duly grateful, or would be one day.  


But for right now, all guilt aside, he was still left with the pain of losing a friend, and nothing but time was going to take that away. Whiskey wasn't the answer, but enough of it might help some. Cam took another swallow, and it burned going down his throat but failed to warm him.  


The buzz of the doorbell broke into his melancholy. His head snapped up and his heart gave a little jump in his chest.  


It was Jackson, hands in pockets and a solemn, doubting look on his face. Cam stood aside and beckoned him in, then closed and locked the door behind him and leaned back against it in a sudden moment of utter weariness.  


"'m okay," he said in answer to Jackson's look of concern.  


"Okay."  


Cam pushed away from the door and touched Jackson's arm. They moved from the hallway into the living room.  


Cam picked up the whiskey bottle. "Want one?"  


Jackson shook his head. "No, I'm good."  


"Me, not so much." Cam screwed the cap back onto the bottle and took it through to the kitchen, placing it in the cupboard. He came back out into the living room and found Jackson staring at the floor, brow furrowed. "Better now that you're here, though."  


Jackson's head came up and he was smiling slightly. "I wasn't even sure you'd want me."  


Cam picked up his whiskey glass and took a sip. "Want?" He looked Jackson slowly up and down. "When have you ever known me not to 'want'?"  


Jackson's smile stretched into a grin. "Well, now that you mention it, I suppose you are sort of...."  


"A horny guy?"  


Jackson snorted softly. "Yeah."  


"I am a horn _dog_ ," Cam proclaimed, and he was smiling now, too. The smile wavered as a tide of emotion rose in his chest. "Besides, I could use a distraction 'long about now."  


Jackson's hands spread out a few inches from his sides, palms towards Cam.  


 _Here I am_.  


Cam set his glass down and moved to Jackson's side.  


Jackson slid an arm around his waist.  


Cam threw an arm over Jackson's shoulders. "Care to step into my boudoir?"  


"I would, yes. Excellent idea," Jackson murmured.  


~~~~  


Cam usually let Jackson take the lead in the bedroom. It tended to work out well for them both, because Jackson always seemed pleased by something Cam had never quite worked out; maybe the degree of trust indicated? And Cam didn't much care either way. He was a lazy sort of lover at times, perfectly happy to lie back and let things be _done_ to him. And Jackson was really _good_ at doing things to him.  


Didn't mean that Cam didn't have opinions, or that Jackson always topped, or that Cam never got fired up and had to _move_. Didn't mean a damn thing other than him liking to please Jackson by letting Jackson decide how to please them both.  


And tonight it meant that Cam had gotten his clothes stripped off faster than you could say Jumping Jehoshaphat and was now lying on the bed with a fully clothed Jackson on top of him, slowly and rhythmically humping away.  


Denim scraped against Cam's cock, and he'd swear he felt each and every button that lay underneath the placket of Jackson's jeans. He clutched the back of Jackson's sweater in his fist and laid his other palm flat against the warm skin he'd uncovered and relished the arousal that was swelling within him.  


Jackson's mouth was about an inch from his ear, and Cam could hear and feel the gusts of air and feel the moisture against his skin. Cam dipped his hand below Jackson's waistband and Jackson's breath hitched. Lips trailed along Cam's sideburn and teeth pressed, delicate and needle-sharp, against his earlobe.  


Cam winced and let his nails dig into the rise of Jackson's butt. Jackson made an indecipherable sound into his ear and bit a little harder.  


It would probably hurt more if Cam hadn't had those couple of whiskeys. As it was, it just made him harder. "Yeah," he said, tightening his arms. This was what he'd needed. _Distraction, thy name is..._.  


Jackson's tongue licked his ear, dipped inside and swirled.  


Cam ducked away. "Gross!"  


Jackson raised his head, grinning, and then dove, darting his tongue into Cam's mouth.  


Well now, that wasn't fair, because Cam could hardly duck away from it, seeing as how they didn't kiss all that often, but he squirmed a lot as he tried to keep his tongue away from the taste of earwax.  


Hell, squirming was good. He lowered his hands to Jackson's hips and gasped into his mouth. He could feel the smile against his parted lips. And then his lips were abandoned, saliva drying on them rapidly, and Jackson was shifting, raising up onto his knees and nipping his way slowly down Cam's chest.  


He went right past the nipples, the dirty bastard. Cam reached up and smacked him on the head.  


Jackson twisted away, laughing.  


"Oh, no, don't you laugh. Don't you make me come up there and...." Cam hooked a leg between Jackson's thighs, and pushed up at his hip as he twisted. Jackson tumbled over and Cam scrambled atop him and leaned in close. "You should know better, Jackson."  


"Maybe I do." And Jackson wasn't laughing any more and his face was flushed. His eyes held a message.  


Cam rolled away, pulse pounding. "Show me some skin."  


Jackson peeled out of his clothes, and it was a sheer pleasure to watch, aside from the part where it was sheer agony because Cam was so fucking hard and leaking that a slow striptease probably would've had him shooting off into the air. The clothing disappeared onto the floor and lube appeared in Jackson's hand. He laid it on Cam's inner thigh, right up against his balls, his fingers lingering for a moment to stroke.  


"How do you want it?" Cam asked, touching Jackson's wrist.  


"Hard? Deep?" Jackson suggested, lips quirking.  


"That part kinda goes without saying."  


"Oh, good. Because I hate having to beg, you know? Spoils the mood." Jackson wrinkled his nose in that way he had.  


"Doesn't spoil _my_ mood any."  


"Keep dreaming." Jackson tossed him a smug smile and rolled over onto his belly. "This do anything for your mood?"  


"Oh, yeah, it sure does. That works for me." Cam's mouth went dry.  


Jackson shimmied his hips. "Grab me a pillow, would you?" They worked the pillow under Jackson's belly, and he settled down onto it, legs wide apart, elbows braced.  


"Ready?" Cam asked, warming lube in the palm of his hand.  


"Yeah." Jackson's voice was quiet and rough. He was obviously more than ready. He _wanted_.  


The first finger went in nice and easy. Enough lube and there was never a problem with prepping Jackson, who knew what to expect and how to relax. It was seriously the one thing that they did, though, that made Cam feel a little bit funny, although he could never put his finger on just why. Heh, finger. Something about the butt in question belonging to a multiple PhD. Didn't matter, didn't distract him, and all he had to do to get past it was to think about those times when Jackson prepped himself. Up on his knees or on his back, fingers burying themselves in his asshole while he'd bite his lip, leaving it all pink and puffy....  


Second finger produced a nice little grunt. Must've hit the magic spot. Cam drizzled some lube onto one cheek of Jackson's ass with his free hand, snapped the lid shut and tossed the bottle away. Leaning on that hand, he lowered himself and slid his cock through the slickness, enjoying the feel of Jackson's curves beneath him.  


Sinking back on his heels, he pulled his fingers out with a squelching sound, swiped his palm over the lube that remained on Jackson's ass, and re-distributed it over the top and sides of his cock. "Here we go," he said, dropping to his elbow and using his already sticky hand to guide his cock into place. He gripped the shaft hard and pressed forward.  


Air whooshed out of Jackson's lungs as Cam inched his way inside. He gave his hand a quick wipe on his thigh and went down on that elbow, too. He lifted his hips, altering his angle ever so slightly, and pushed. In and in and all the way in. He stayed there, still, panting, with Jackson's ass warm and solid against his abdomen, and pivoted his arms a few degrees so that his hands touched Jackson's ribcage.  


He waited.  


Jackson's hips surged up.  


"Uh-huh," Cam responded. "Uh-huh." He began to fuck.  


Some nights they lasted a long time. This wasn't one of them. Jackson was clenching tight around Cam's cock within a few minutes and making those peculiar noises that meant he was right near the brink. Must've been the angle, or maybe the way his cock rubbed up against the pillow just right. Didn't matter, long as it was good.  


And Cam's ride was both good and tight, and he was working furiously to give Jackson the hard and the deep he'd requested, even though there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room to keep going at that rate. He lifted up one hand to wipe away sweat before it could get into his eyes.  


He saw one of Jackson's hands flailing and leaned forward quickly to grab onto it, letting his weight come down on Jackson's back, anchoring him as he sobbed and shuddered through orgasm. Cam pressed his lips to Jackson's nape, tasting his sweat, and held himself snug and deep and still, eyes tightly shut, while his body screamed at him to _move_.  


Jackson's body relaxed. His inner grip on Cam's cock loosened. Still Cam waited, interminable seconds. Finally Jackson's head lolled to the side and he groaned deeply.  


Cam did a quick pushup and began to work his hips rapidly. His cock sped in and out, friction reduced but sensation intact. A dozen, two dozen strokes, and by then Jackson had revived enough to deliver the occasional squeeze and Cam plunged over the cliff, shaking and moaning and falling, falling....  


He landed stretched out on Jackson's back.  


It seemed like the place to be, so he stayed there for a while, letting his heartbeat slow while his cock softened. He knew he must be heavy, but Jackson wasn't complaining.  


Never complained. Still.  


Cam eased out carefully and rolled to the side, ending up on his back, pressed up tight against Jackson. He got his arm free and draped it down along Jackson's back, his hand coming to rest on the curve of one sticky ass cheek. He looked up at the pool of lamp light on the ceiling and let a noise escape him that was something between satisfaction and exhaustion. An answering sound came from the limp body next to his. Cam smiled.  


Jackson stirred, oh so slightly. "I may move again in a day or two," he sighed into the pillow.  


Cam patted his ass. "Guess that means I'm on clean-up duty."  


A grunt.  


Cam didn't want to move either.  


After a couple of minutes there was another, more inquisitive grunt.  


"Yeah, yeah," Cam muttered, rolling to his feet and stumbling towards the bathroom.  


As he washed at the sink, Cam examined himself in the mirror, seeing a flushed, relaxed face and calm eyes. He sighed as he rinsed out his washcloth and hung it over the edge of the tub. He got a fresh cloth prepared for Jackson and blotted at himself with a hand towel as he walked back to the bed.  


Jackson hadn't moved, and Cam wondered if he'd fallen asleep. He set to work cleaning up the mess of lube and semen. Jackson murmured and slid his legs a little farther apart, but that didn't prove that he was awake. But when Cam tapped his shoulder and told him, "Roll over," he rolled, eyes shut.  


Cam watched Jackson's face as he gently cleaned him up. Jackson licked his lips a few times. "Thirsty?" Cam asked.  


Jackson opened his eyes, squinted in the dim light and shut them again. "No, I'm good."  


Cam finished drying him, tossed the washcloth and towel onto the floor, and climbed into the bed. Jackson automatically moved into their default post-coital position, where they lay face-to-face, feet and hands touching and tangling. Cam slid into place and pulled up the covers.  


After a few minutes of steadily growing unease, he found that he was clutching at Jackson's hand. And he didn't quite know how a hand could communicate surprise or the lack of it, but he had the feeling that Jackson wasn't surprised at all. Cam opened his eyes and found Jackson looking at him with a slightly furrowed brow. Cam blinked. "Forgot to turn the lamp off."  


"Doesn't bother me," Jackson replied. He moved, began to pull Cam into his arms.  


Cam went. Got his own arms around Jackson. Burrowed in and squeezed.  


Jackson stroked Cam's back, and it didn't soothe him at all. Needy sounds erupted from his throat as his hands clutched at Jackson.  


"Mitchell, I'm not going anywhere."  


Cam gasped. Once, twice, three times. Nail on the head, and he hadn't even known the nail was there. He consciously relaxed his arms and felt the strength of Jackson's hold on him. "I thought I'd see him again," he blurted. "That's... I didn't expect...."  


"Yeah," Jackson said, and there was a world of understanding in his voice. "Was there something more you needed to say to him?"  


Cam was silent, thinking. "I could've told him we got Teal'c back safe. He would've liked to know that."  


"Mmm." Jackson's hold shifted and his lips touched Cam's forehead. "Do you think he had more he wanted to tell you?"  


"No. No, he covered all the important stuff. He... God bless him, he...." The words strangled in Cam's throat.  


 _Fergy_.  


"Sorry," Cam groaned, struggling free of Jackson's arms and pushing his way off the bed. He got a brief impression of a startled Jackson reaching for him.  


And then he was in the bathroom, with the door shut, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, banging his fist on his knee and trying to breathe, _breathe_.  


Breathing seemed a little easier when he slid to the floor and curled up on the rug next to the tub. His eyes, still surprisingly dry, registered the puffs of dust and hair at the base of the cupboard underneath the sink, and he numbly made a mental note to vacuum soon. That prosaic thought seemed to snap him out of whatever funk he'd been sinking into, but he didn't feel in any particular hurry to get up off the floor yet, so he stayed there, just breathing.  


A few minutes later there was a tap at the door and Jackson opened it slowly.  


Cam peered up at him. "'lo."  


"I'm sorry." Jackson made a face. "I have to...." He waved a hand at the toilet.  


A paroxysm of silent laughter shook Cam. He rose from the floor smoothly and paused at the door to plaster himself up against Jackson and plant a sloppy kiss beneath his right ear.  


Jackson patted his shoulder. "Keep my spot warm for me?"  


"Will do," Cam promised.  


~~~~  


Jackson stayed for a few hours after that, snoring peacefully into Cam's ear. When he left around dawn, Cam, who'd finally dropped off into something deeper than a doze, barely woke at the touch of lips on his cheek.  


Now the sun was high in the sky and Cam, showered and clean-shaven, was almost dressed when the phone rang to let him know that his driver was pulling into the apartment complex. He shrugged into the coat of his Service Dress uniform and settled it across his shoulders.  


He gave himself one last look in the mirror as he was buttoning the coat, straightened his tie, picked up his cap and his club bag and went out to meet the car that was taking him to Peterson, where he would board the plane that was carrying Major Bryce Ferguson on his final flight.  


The flight home.  



End file.
